Elastic Heart by Bittersweet Escape
by ControlPossessSeduceContest
Summary: "Control? I have none. I lost it way before I lost him. Now? I just drift." Contest Entry for the Control. Possess. Seduce. Contest.


**Contest Entry for the Control. Possess. Seduce. Contest**

 **Title:** Elastic Heart

 **Rating:** M

 **Summary:** "Control? I have none. I lost it way before I lost him. Now? I just drift." Contest Entry for the Control. Possess. Seduce. Contest.

 **Disclaimer:** The author does not own any publicly recognizable characters herein. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

 **Elastic Heart**

 _"Well, I've got thick skin and an elastic heart_

 _But your blade-It might be too sharp_

 _I'm like a rubber band until you pull too hard_

 _Yeah, I may snap and I move fast."_

 _-Sia, Elastic Heart._

"This was the last time."

"Okay, Sugar."

I cringe at the stupid fucking name and pull on my underwear. My discarded dress is next, along with the stiletto heels I hate. At least the grey, boring pea coat that makes me look professional, or so the store assistant told me

What a crock.

"I'm serious," I tell him without looking back. Instead, I'm staring into the mirror, trying to convince myself I'm better than this.

I'm better than a secret motel fuck.

"Sure thing," he laughs from the bed, and when I turn to look, he's the image of smugness. "I'll call you during the week. Set a time to meet up."

He thinks I'll be back.

I probably will be.

I don't tell him this, though. I won't give him the satisfaction. Instead, I throw a glare in his direction before storming out of the sleazy motel room.

. . . .

"How's the job going?"

"Fine," I mutter, biting into a large forkful of lasagna.

"I don't know why you don't just come work at the car lot. It'll belong to you one day, anyway." My dad shrugs, checking his perfectly gelled hair in the reflection of his spoon.

Mom's not here. Business meeting, she claimed, but Dad and I both know she's screwing around with Mr. Weber. It doesn't bother good ol' Charlie, though, because he's banging Esme Cullen; he has been for over a decade.

It seems I fall in the same category as my parents when it comes to lying and infidelity.

I'm a fucking pro.

"Because I want something for myself," I answer. "Real estate is booming right now. I can get a perfect location for a studio downtown."

"Pfft. You don't even have any staff yet," he scoffs, like I'm an idiot.

"I'm working on it," I grit.

I stand up to clear my plate, but when I move, Charlie clicks his fingers. I slump as Carmen, one of our four waitresses, rushes in to to clear our plates. She smiles politely, and I try to smile back, but I'm sickened by my pretentious father rolling his eyes behind her. Clearly, Carmen isn't moving quickly enough for his liking.

When she leaves, I turn to him. "I can clean my own plate."

"Well, you don't have to," he states, like it's obvious. "That's what she's paid for. To serve you."

I scoff in disgust. "I'm going to bed."

"It's eight-thirty," he calls as I leave the dining room.

I don't even bother answering.

Once I'm in my room, I head straight for my jewellery box. Given to me years ago by a boy I thought I'd always have, I keep the wooden trinket close to me always. It's the only honest gift I've ever been given.

 _My Girl, Forever._

Forever didn't exactly pan out.

It's stupid really. I based it all on him at one point. All of my sanity, my self-control. That small thread that kept me from tipping over the edge. What I realise now, is that the thread was non-existent. Control? I have none. I lost it way before I lost him. Now? I just drift.

I lift the lid, sparing a moment to watch the ballerina spin her little dance before I pull out the hidden compartment. I smile spitefully when I see the bag, but waste no time in pulling it out and emptying it out on my bedside drawer. I pull my credit card out and push it down, dicing and separating until I have two little white lines, neat and promising.

I shoot one and then the other, and fall back to the mattress, awaiting my numbness.

. . . .

"Where the fuck have you been?"

"Working." I mumble, avoiding her eyes. But I let her loop her arm through mine as we walk down the street.

"You missed my party." Rosalie Cullen pouts, and I smile at her. I can't resist.

"Sorry." I shrug. "It's been crazy, you know? Uhm, how was it?"

I start to drown her out as she tells me all about the lavish party she threw at her parents' estate over the weekend. We're pretty pathetic. Most kids move out and head to college after they graduate high school. Not Rose and I. We come from a different breed. With parents who have more money than sense, we decided to hang around and utilize their assets for all they're worth. At twenty, I'm over it. Rose is still living the pampered life.

"…Oh! I almost forgot." She stops me with a smirk. "The Masen boys are back."

I don't blink. "Since when?"

"They got in last Tuesday night, apparently." She continues walking with me behind her. "And man, Emmett grew up _so_ fine. I mean, his arms… they're huge. Like-"

"Rose," I snap.

"Alright, jeez." She huffs, flippng her perfectly curled blonde hair. "According to gossip, Emmett tore up some muscle in his leg and can't play for two months. Edward, being the stand up brother," she snorts sarcastically, "is taking care of him."

About five years ago, the Masen brothers practically ruled our little town. What's weird was they didn't come from money, like most of the socialites on this end of Forks, Washington. But they knew the important stuff. Like where to score good weed, and where to find an abandoned warehouse to set up.

They knew how to party like kings. And they did. Hard.

"He was asking about you." Rose smiles, turning to me.

"What about me?" I'm skeptical.

"How you were. If you're still mad at him."

I scoff.

I hadn't exactly ended on a brilliant note with the younger of the Masen brothers. I vaguely remember calling him an arrogant prick and him calling me a two-bit whore.

That's pretty much the gist of the last time we spoke.

"They're throwing a party in a few weeks." She throws it out like its nothing, picking at her acrylics, but she knows deep down, to me, it's everything.

"Cool," I don't bother asking where. She'll slip up eventually.

. . . .

"You're late," my boss barks as I enter the small, two person office.

He's not really mad. He's just pissed he didn't get more time to ogle my ass.

I've just taken off my coat, and he's at my back, body pressed against mine and hot breath on my neck.

"I told you this was over." I lean back against him, betraying my words.

"But it's not. Not when it's this good." He kisses my neck, but I don't tingle.

I turn to face him, all blond hair and blue eyes and so familiar it makes my head hurt.

"I can't keep doing this. If she finds out…" I can't even finish the thought.

Rose would hate me forever.

"She won't." He smiles, not a care in the world. "Now, take off your shirt."

"Carlisle…"

I'm silenced when he kisses me, and when he pushes me up against the wall, I push my fears to the back of my mind and just feel.

Even if I don't feel any tingles.

. . . .

It's three weeks before I hear anything from him.

I'm leaving the house, already late for work, when my cellphone rings. I'm juggling around the folders in my arms, squirming until I find my phone.

"Hello?" I say, a little breathless.

"Hey."

The folders drop from my arms, and I go still. I'm frozen, with the phone still glued to my ear, but inside I'm burning hot. My cheeks flame and my heart races. I roll my eyes.

All he did was say _Hey,_ for Christ's sake.

"Yo, Bella. You there?" He calls through the receiver.

"Yeah, I'm here." I clear my throat. "I just dropped something."

"Oh." He's quiet for a second. "So, what are you up to?"

Seriously?

"Heading to work. I'm actually late, so…" I know I sound like a bitch. I can hear it in his irritated sigh, and God, I've missed that sound.

"Well, I just got back into town-"

"Three weeks ago," I blurt out, slapping a hand over my mouth to stop anymore bullshit spewing out.

"You been checking up on me?" he asks, and I can practically hear the smirk behind the tone.

"You know Rose." I tell him, still mentally berating myself.

"Can I take you out to lunch?"

My heart races. "I can't today. I'm really busy, sorry."

"Okay, how about tomorrow?" he persists.

"Uh, no. Can't." I can't even give him a good excuse, because every word out of my mouth is a lie. Work isn't busy. I can meet for lunch. Problem is, I _want_ it too much. And that's unacceptable.

"Sorry, all I hear on this end is, 'Go fuck yourself, Edward'." He chuckles sardonically.

"If that works, yeah." My inner bitch returns. "Look, I gotta go."

"Yeah, right. Cool."

He hangs up, and I'm irrationally pissed.

But I should've known better.

Neither of us has grown the fuck up.

. . . .

I'm not even surprised when I leave the office at the end of the day and find him leaning against my car in the parking lot.

I take a moment to just look at him. While his maturity is still dubious, he definitely looks the part of a grown man. His shoulders are broader, and his arms are no longer lean, but built. He runs a hand through his hair, and I have to stop the smile creeping onto my face. It's still as unruly and fucked up as ever. Bronze, disheveled, and all over the place, I'm ready to throw a playful jibe in his direction, but he looks up. The moment his icy green eyes meet mine, my almost-smile drops, and years worth of misery flood back in.

" _You're a fucking liar!"_

" _I hate you!"_

I shake my head, dismissing three-year-old, bitter words.

This is who I am now.

The girl he left behind broken, and this is what is left.

"You know," he calls to me as I move toward him, "I never thought you'd be the type of girl to drive a Lexus."

"It's not my car," I shrug, just to fuck with him.

He rolls his eyes. "Pfft. I can smell your dad's cash all over it." He glances around before turning back to me. "What happened to the beast?"

Edward always did have a fascination with the ugliest vehicles. My 1962 bright orange Chevy was no different. When he wasn't with me or out with his buddies, he could always be found working on that truck.

"She broke down eventually. Dad sold it," I lie.

I don't tell him that after he left, I got it scrapped at the junk yard. Looking at it, reliving stupid fucking memories, was driving me to despair.

"Huh." That's all he says, standing up to stretch.

A long silence ensues, in which I stare at my feet, then the sky, then again at him. He screws around on his phone, tugging at his hair.

"Was there something you wanted?" I ask finally, eager to get home to my hidden sickness.

"Me and Emmett are setting up at my house this weekend. You should come." He says it so carelessly, like the thought just popped into his head.

"I don't really party anymore," I admit, and while it's partially true, that doesn't mean I don't party on my own. The sweetness wrapped in a plastic baggie proves it.

My hands begin to shake, my body already focusing on its next hit.

"It's gonna be small. Just a few people." He steps closer. "Just come."

"Why?" I ask.

"Because." I glare, but he simply grins. "Okay, because it's weird being back and not seeing you. It sucks, okay?"

I don't let his words settle anywhere near my heart, but nod at him anyway. "Okay, sure… uh… I gotta go."

No more is said as I rush by him, setting myself inside the plush leather interior of my car. As I'm peeling out of the parking lot, I notice him still standing there, staring at the spot where I stood moments ago.

. . . .

The hall is crowded. Business execs and pompous fake housewives chatter away while I hide in the corner.

I wish Rose was here. Someone on the same level as me. Past this bullshit.

She might not be here, but her parents are. Stunning on the arm of her husband, Esme Cullen is the epitome of a perfect wife. She looks stunning in her red floor-length dress, complementing her caramel hair and blue eyes beautifully. She looks amazing.

No one would ever suspect she's a fucking liar. Just like her husband.

As gorgeous as she is, it doesn't stop Carlisle from leering at me over her shoulder while she hugs my mother. He shakes hands with my father and grins at whatever he says. If only Daddy knew what his friend did to his only child behind closed doors.

As they stand in a circle, it's like watching a pack of wolves coercing with each other. All hiding their uglier, truer sides.

My phone chimes for what feels like the millionth time tonight, and I finally pull it out from the tiny bag that matches my dress. There are four texts, and eleven missed calls. I check each message.

 _ **Hanging out at Emmett's if you want to come over. Rosie :D xx**_

 _ **You look stunning tonight. Meet me in the usual place around midnight? C**_

 _ **Please stop sulking and join us. This is a very important night for your father. Mom.**_

 _ **Come over and hang out. E**_

I snap my phone shut, take one last glance around the boring ball, and leave quietly.

. . . .

I'm walking up Emmett Masen's porch, and I can already feel the bass of the music inside beneath my feet.

Beer cans and bright plastic cups litter the lawn, making me step and tip toe carefully. The smell of pot is thick in the air, as kids hang around outside the house, passing joints back and forth. Mike Newton has a clearly wasted Jessica Stanley pressed up beside the front door, his hands all over her, and she's just clinging on.

Guess she went on yet another binge.

I lift my dress as I head through the door, glancing around at the ruckus in front of me. It seems the party is in full swing. I barely take a step before I'm slammed by Rose. She wraps her arms around me tightly and giggles in my ear, tequila hot on her breath.

"Hey, bestie," she laughs in my ear, nearly yelling over the music.

I pull back and smile at her sparkly blue eyes. "Tipsy, Rose?"

"Just a little." She tries to pinch her fingers together, but keeps slipping.

Emmett comes up behind her, wrapping an arm around her waist, and pulls her back against his chest. He smiles. "Long time no see, Button."

I laugh. "No one calls me that anymore."

"D'aw," he coos, reaching out a meaty paw to ruffle my hair. "You're still my Belly Button." I snort, making him laugh. "How are you?"

"I'm good, yeah." I nod, uncomfortable under his scrutiny. "You got…. huge."

"Soccer, babe." He flexes a muscular arm, and Rose practically melts back against him. "You look tired. And thin."

I look away from Rose and up into Emmett's worried gaze. This is the part I've forgotten. How perceptive the older brother of my affection is. How big brotherly he was, not only to his brother, but also to me.

I shrug, though my heart is racing and the small baggie encased in my bra feels like it's on fire.

"It's probably the dress," I lie with a smile.

He cocks an eyebrow, then shakes his head. "Yeah, whats the deal?"

"Her rich, rich, rich daddy made her go to that hospital benefit." Rose answers for me, spinning around us. She kisses me on the cheek, and then literally jumps into Emmett's arms.

Luckily, he catches her.

"She's been doing it all night." He shakes his head wryly.

"My monkey man," she slurs, and both Emmett and I snort out laughter.

"You can head up and change if you want." He points up the stairs. "You know your way around."

"Cool. Thanks." I nod, returning his outstretched fist bump.

He heads off with a now singing Rosalie as I head for the stairs. But I'm once again stopped before I've really moved.

Edward is across the room, sitting on the large, black couch. He's laughing, his head tipped towards his beer as his whole body shakes with his chuckles. And while he looks incredible in his dark blue t-shirt and jeans, I'm focused on Alice Brandon's hand, which seems to be glued to his bicep.

I'm ready to take a step towards them, but like a slap in the face, my brain stops me.

 _He's not yours._

Instead, I turn away and head up the stairs and head towards his bedroom. I can feel my pulse racing behind my ears, and though I know logically I have no right to be jealous, that doesn't mean I'm not.

I want to tear her the fuck apart for daring to touch him.

I fling myself into the room and slam the door behind me, clicking the lock into place and letting the chaos outside mute. The room is dark, but my eyes still manage to make out his bed.

Flashes of us hit me faster than I can process. A mirage of moans, breathless pants and laughter. Talking, kissing, playing, crying, fucking. Me on top, him behind me, hovering over me.

" _Don't stop, don't stop-"_

" _Never, baby."_

I close my eyes and let the back of my head thump against the door a few times before heading for his closet. I blindly pull out a shirt and a pair of pajama bottoms, then turn and make a hasty exit. I'm no longer in the mood to party. I just want to sleep.

But halfway to the guest room, I pull his shirt up to my nose and inhale, letting the memories overtake me once again.

. . . .

I stretch and groan, feeling the achy, tired muscles protest. My eyes feel sticky, and I curse myself for not washing off my make up. I yawn and roll over only to bump my knees on something solid.

Someone solid.

Edward sits on the edge of the bed, his back to me as he stares down at the floor. It's his house. He can go wherever he likes, but I know I should ask him why he's watching me sleep. Why he's sitting on the edge of the bed.

But my brain can't process anything except the fact that he's shirtless.

"What the fuck is this?" he asks, not moving.

"Emmett said I could crash…" I trail off.

"Been thinking about you all night. Why didn't you show up? I can't wait to have you again. Maybe we'll do it on my desk next time, C." He spits the words out then spins towards me, holding up my phone.

I snatch it form his hands, shooting up so fast my head spins. "What the fuck? What the _fuck_ are you doing with my phone?"

"You're screwing around with Carlisle Cullen?" he accuses, disdain dripping from his voice.

"N-No," I stammer, shaking my head. My hands shake as I slip out of bed. "Of course not."

"Cut the bullshit." He stands, watching me root around for my things. "You think I don't know his fucking number? Everyone in town has it."

"Look, it's none of your business," I huff, kneeling to grab my purse from beneath the bed.

"It's not my business, but it is Rosie's."

I stop and turn to glare at him. "Fuck you. You don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, yeah?" He laughs, the sound bitter. "See, I'm pretty sure she'd be hurt if she found out her best friend was fucking around with her old man. I mean, everyone in town knows he's a skeeze, but to sleep with her best friend? Pretty sure that'll crush her."

"Stay the fuck out of it," I snap, finally turning to face him. "Don't you dare come in here and start shit with me over something you know nothing about."

"Oh, I know everything about you. You're mine, remember?"

"What?" I scoff. "I'm not yours. You gave that up. You gave _me_ up."

"I never gave up, you did, and look where it's gotten you." He waves my phone at me.

"Give it back." I reach over, but he yanks the phone back, and starts scrolling through it. "Edward, don't fuck around. Give my phone back."

He ignores me, his fingers working over the screen.

"What are you doing?" I almost yell, running around the bed and latching onto his arm.

I tug, but he doesn't shift one bit.

"Letting him know who he's fucking with," he tells me, sending a text.

"You dick!" I smack him in the chest, and he finally releases the phone. "You can't do this shit anymore. You don't know anything about me now."

"I know you're high," he states, crossing his arms over his chest.

I'm silent, unable to speak for a few tense moments. He stares me down, an eyebrow raised at me, daring me to deny it. Which I do.

"No, I'm not." My answer is weak, and not what I should have said.

"I saw you. The day I got back into town." He walks over to me and towers over me, his presence overpowering. "You were coming out of that shitty little café you like. The one with the good coffee."

I look at him blankly, because I don't remember.

"You walked right fucking by me," he nearly growls. "You walked right past when I called your name, and you were so fucking spaced out you didn't even know that I followed you home."

"I…" I can't think of anything to say, fear gripping my bones.

In my momentary silence, he grabs my purse and tips it, emptying the contents onto the bed. My hand reaches out, but it's too late to stop it. Lipstick, a pack of gum, a tampon, and my bag of serenity fall onto the mattress with a muted thud. Edward picks it up, placing it in the back pocket of his jeans before turning to face me.

"What do you want?" I ask in a whisper.

"To know what the fuck happened after I left." He tells me, like he expects me to just sit here and pour my heart out to him.

"Fuck this," I hiss, heading for the door.

I only get it halfway opened when Edward's large palm smacks against the wood, slamming the door closed. He splays out his hand, the muscles in his arm flexing as he keeps it there. His chest comes up against my back, and my eyes fall closed.

Tingles. Electricity. Fucking Fire.

He's so close I can actually feel the breath in his chest hitch as his body makes contact with mine, and I have to resist the urge to turn and face him.

"Move," I say softly, and without an ounce of the anger that should be present in my voice.

"We're not done here," he sighs, pressing closer.

"Edward, seriously…," I breathe. "Don't."

"Can't…I just gotta…" He loses his resolve, giving up on attempting to answer as he grabs my hip with his other hand.

When he drops his head to my neck, my hands fall on the door, one overlapping his. My head falls back onto his shoulder as his nose skims up to my ear, making my knees shake. It was always like this with him, a passion so strong and a heat so powerful that I have no idea how we ever stayed apart.

It's the most erotic experience of my life, and he's barely touched me.

"God," I whimper, shaking, but for all the right reasons.

"Baby," he groans out, so softly, placing his lips on my neck. I feel him harden against my spine. "Let me fix you."

"Ed-"

"Edward?"

My eyes snap open when I hear the tinkling voice. I don't hesitate to pull the door open, and Edward lets his hands drop with a harsh sigh.

I scoff. "Of course."

Alice is standing on the other side of the door, glancing between Edward and me balefully. She folds her arms across her chest, rubbing her foot against the back of her bare ankle. My eyes take in the deep blue t-shirt she's wearing. The one belonging to the boy behind me.

I know it well, wearing it many times in the past myself.

"I was looking for you." She speaks straight to Edward, ignoring my presence altogether. "I wanted to see if you wanted breakfast."

"Yeah, Edward. Do you want her to make you breakfast?" I spin on him. "I mean, you could at least give her that, right? Seeing as you walked out on her to come talk to your ex. She must've been awfully cold without you in that big bed of yours."

"It wasn't-"

I don't give him time to answer. I just grab my phone from the bed and walk out.

He doesn't come after me.

. . . .

"No."

"Yes."

"I don't want to."

"Isabella."

I groan, flopping onto my bed. "I said no. Carlisle, you've gotta stop doing this."

"It's been nearly a month! I'm going crazy without you," he tells me in a smooth voice, but it does nothing for me.

"I don't care." I glance around my room, feeling antsy. "I can't do this anymore. It's just not worth it."

Edward's words from weeks ago still ring hard in my brain, and I can't stomach going near Carlisle after almost giving in to Edward. Between him and Rose, all I want is to disappear.

"If you want this to stop, then everything will stop. I mean _everything_. I'll ruin you." He speaks so calmly, you'd never suspect the rage he's promising.

"No need. I quit, Carl." I will my voice to be strong, but giving up a job with this kind of pay makes my stomach queasy. "I've already sent my resignation letter to the head office."

It's quiet for a few seconds. The sound of his angry breathing down the line is the only noise before he hangs up.

It seems I'm not even worth a response.

The phone rings again and I groan, answering with a clipped, "What?"

"Whoa. Hello to you, too."

I close my eyes. "Sorry, Rosie."

"You okay?" she asks, her voice garbled by whatever she's eating.

"Yeah, it's been a long morning. What's up?"

"We're going out tonight."

I roll my eyes. Every night for Rose is a night out. The girl lives to party, yet still wakes up fresh and baby-faced in the morning. She doesn't have an addiction, per se. Partying is her addiction, but that's about as far as it goes.

She's lucky.

"I don't know. I don't really feel like it." I pick at my nails, glancing over at my jewellery box.

"Come on, Button. I need you," she whines.

"Button? Have you been hanging around with Emmett?" She doesn't answer. "How long has that being going on?"

"Since now," she mutters. I hear shuffling in the background, and then whispering.

"Ro? Is someone with you?"

"No, it's the TV."

I shrug it off, even if she's acting weird.

"Please just come." She tries again.

"Just go alone. You usually do. Or drag Em out." I lean over, pulling my jewelry box towards me and stroking the pine wood reverently.

"I want to go with _you_."

"Rosie, why are you pushing this?" I try to keep the bite out of my voice.

"I'm lonely, okay?" She sighs. "I miss you. We barely see you anymore."

"We?" I ask.

She doesn't answer.

"Okay, fine. But if it sucks, I'm going home."

"Okay, cool. I'll pick you up at eight," she tells me, and while she tries to sound cheery, I can tell it's forced. She almost sounds…sad.

"Okay."

We make pleasantries, but my heart isn't in it, and we eventually hang up. My heart is in the box, surrounding the white sweetness awaiting me.

. . . .

My head is pounding. I try to crack one eye open, and after a few seconds of blinking, I realise I'm in my bed.

I have no idea how I got home. The last thing I remember was dancing with Rosie in the middle of a crowded club after having way too many shots. The bass was thumping through my feet, and hungry eyes roamed over us, every guy in the place looking for a hook up. I don't even know how we got in to the club in the first place. I was sure we'd get carded, but Rose had simply winked at the two heavily muscled bouncers at the door and sauntered by with her arm locked with mine.

I notice the tall glass of water and two small tablets sitting on my nightstand. I down the glass of water in one gulp, parched beyond belief, but I don't bother with the tablets. My little secret will have me up and about in no time. I turn to find my box… and find an empty spot instead.

I'm up and out of bed quicker than a blink. I check underneath my bed, the laundry hamper, my underwear drawer, my closet, my desk, but it's no use. I never move my jewellery box from it's spot on my left nightstand, far away from the door and close to me when I need it.

I get frantic, and by the time I'm done, my overly spacious bedroom has been ransacked. I'm breathless and panting, my hands on my hips as I glance around helplessly. But it's not until I reach for the door handle that I really start to panic.

It won't open. I yank again, pulling and twisting the handle but getting no result.

"You're not getting out," a voice tells me from the opposite side.

"Edward, open the door." I try to laugh it off, like this is the best prank ever and I'm not freaking out inside.

"Your mom called. Said she's headed out to Tahiti with some girlfriends. She'll be back at the end of the month, and uh, Rosie said your dad's in Manhattan for two weeks. That gives us plenty of time," Edward rambles.

"Edward, you've had your fun. Now open the door." I'm not laughing.

"It's time to stop, B. It's either this or a rehab, and I'm pretty sure you don't want your old folks knowing."

I slam my fists on the white-coated wood. "Open the fucking door!"

"I'm sorry, but it needs to be done." There's a dull thump as he slides down the other side of the door. "You need to get clean."

. . . .

I don't know how long it's been. I haven't bothered to check the time. All I know is that the sky is darkening outside and my skin is beginning to itch.

Three sharp knocks rattle the door. "I've got dinner."

"I'm not hungry."

He ignores me. "Stand back from the door."

I do, preparing myself. As soon as it opens wide enough, I rush forward, but he's prepared for that and catches me in his arms before I pass him. I kick and scream, my back to his chest as I flail my legs. But his grip is iron steel, not even flinching when I struggle.

Rosalie steps in behind him, holding a tray with a bowl of soup, bread and a Gatorade. Her face is wiped clean and her long, blonde locks are pulled back into a bun. She's still in the same dress she wore last night, paired with Emmett's team hoodie and my slipper boots. I don't hold back my glare at her, but she keeps her red-rimmed eyes focused on the floor as she places the tray on the desk and leaves.

Edward tightens his grip on me as I struggle harder, his arms constricting with the effort to hold my madness. He eventually gives up and drops me on the bed before storming out of the room, slamming the door behind him. He clicks the makeshift lock into place as I launch the tray of food at the wall, screaming as I do.

. . . .

"Bella?"

I turn my eyes to the door, but say nothing.

"B, are… are you okay? You've been really quiet in there."

I'm silent.

"I'm really sorry. It's just… he's right. You're losing control." Rose sighs.

"You didn't even know anything was wrong until he told you," I huff, sitting up on my bed.

"I've known for a while," she admits. "I just didn't know what to do, you know? I don't know how to help you."

"Oh, you knew?" I laugh cruelly. "If you knew about that, then I'm guessing you know about me and your dad?"

Silence, but not from me this time.

"Yeah, we've been at it for months, Ro. We all knew your dad liked to fuck around, and he likes 'em young, huh? But hey, it's ok. Maybe you just need to lock him up in his _own_ fucking house and let him detox it out. Right?"

This time, I hear her sniffle and the sound of her feet shuffling as she walks away.

. . . .

"Please, please! Just-I need… just let me go!" I cry, slamming my hands against the door. "I won't get anything, I swear. I just need out of this room!"

"No, B."

. . . .

I wake up with a cold compress on my head. I'm shivering, but my skin is hot to the touch.

The light coming from between the curtains seems blinding, so I close my eyes again.

. . . .

It's been four days, and the itch has subsided.

I manage to drag myself to my bathroom, dropping into a heap at the bottom of the shower as water pelts on my back. But as soon as I'm dressed in clean sweats with my hair brushed, I fall back into bed.

. . . .

I fold my legs into my chest, bringing the cigarette to my lips. My eyes are drawn out to the yard, where I can see my jewellery box now lies in pieces. The sight brings tears to my eyes. For once, though, it's not because of what was contained inside, but rather what the box meant to me.

It's a part of my teen years I'll never get back.

"How do you feel?"

I turn, finding Edward standing in the open doorway, a screwdriver in his hands.

I shrug, turning back to the window.

He sighs. "Bella…"

"I'm fine." I snap, but then recede. "I'm not craving. Well, not that anyway."

He raises an eyebrow.

"I want a burger. A really fat, cheesy, greasy burger." I sigh, leaning my head back against the alcove.

He snorts, shaking his head. "Definitely feeling better."

We're silent while he removes the large, black lock from my door. It leaves holes where screws once were, but it doesn't matter. My parents aren't home long enough to notice anyway.

"Where's Ro?" I ask sadly, closing my eyes as I take puff.

"She went to get some stuff from the store," he answers, looking around my room.

"Does she hate me?" Because If I was in her shoes, I'd fucking hate my guts.

"Couldn't tell you." He shrugs, and I stare at him, making his shoulder sag. "Look, does she hate you? Don't think so. Is she upset? Yeah, she's pretty devastated. But you'll work it out. You've been friends since birth. That's not something that just disappears when you fuck up."

"I was having sex with her dad. Regularly. It's hardly a fuck up. More like a monumental shit storm." I shake my head, turning back to gaze out of the window.

"Do you love him?"

"What?" I turn back to him, incredulous.

"Are you in love with him? With _Carlisle_ ," he grits out his name, hands fisted at his side.

"You're not seriously asking me this right now," I scoff.

"I genuinely want to know. I mean, how long have you guys been screwing around?"

"Oh, my God, would you just stop? Are you masochistic or something?" I throw my hands in the air. "Why would you want to know this?"

"Because I have to, okay? I _need_ to know," he growls at me, slapping a hand against his chest.

His eyes boring into mine give away the last shred of resistance I have. I could lie, but what would be the point? We've both suffered enough.

"No, I don't love him. He was just…. there," I say quietly.

Edward nods, staring down at the floor.

"You're the only one I've ever loved this way," I admit, and when he doesn't react, I scoff bitterly, turning to the window. "Heartless motherfucker."

His head snaps up, eyes raging. "Oh, I'm heartless? I didn't start all this."

"Yes, you did!" I explode. "You _left_! It's been years, and I haven't heard a word from you!"

"You were screwing around with Tyler Crowley!" he yells at me. "What the fuck did you think I was gonna do? Call you to have a chat about how you smashed my fucking heart to pieces?"

"I told you, I never slept with Tyler. I _never_ cheated!" I slam my hands down on the window sill, spinning to face him.

"You were seen at his house."

"Yeah, because I was…" I trail off, remembering the reason I was there. I wince.

"You were what?" Edward asks, exasperated.

"I was scoring off him," I admit.

He's quiet for a few seconds before blurting out, "He's your supplier, right? You get your coke from him?"

My silence speaks volumes.

. . . .

"So you had a nice time?"

"It was wonderful. So nice to get away."

I try to hold in my scathing remark.

Nice to get away. _Pffttt._

"How was Chicago?" Mom asks, pushing her green beans around the plate.

"New York, actually," Dad corrects her. "It was fine. The usual. Busy."

"I swore you were in Chicago." She shakes her head.

"That was last month." He shovels more food in his mouth, his eyes focused on his iPhone.

The table falls silent, only the sounds of chewing and scraping utensils present.

Neither of them have asked how I was while they were away. And I don't know what's worse. Being forgotten when they leave or being ignored when I sit before them.

. . . .

"Hey."

I sigh. "I'm sorry, Ro."

"I know," she says softly.

"Really. I fucked up," I stress.

"You did," she tells me. "You fucked up big time, Button. But I love you anyway."

"I love you, too." I swallow the lump in my throat.

"I just can't be around you right now." She lets out a long breath. "I need time."

I close my eyes. "Yeah, I know."

The silence between us only lingers for a second.

"Tyler Crowley is in the hospital."

My eyes pop back open. "What happened?"

"Officially? He got mugged coming out of a nightclub last week," she says flippantly.

"And unofficially?" I ask.

She doesn't answer.

She doesn't need to.

. . . .

Slipping my feet into my old jazz boots is like slipping into home. Warm, cushiony and inviting. I smile, pulling my hood up over my head before I turn the music up as loud as it will go.

The large mirrors all around the small Forks dance studio reflect my image back at me as I twist and bend, folding my body in time with the music.

This is the dream I fought so hard for, yet I haven't set a foot on this floor in months.

But now, spinning to the beat of the music, I've never felt more alive and at the same time, peaceful.

. . . .

 _ **Did you trash Tyler Crowley?**_

 _ **You worried?**_

 _ **For you and Em, yeah :/**_

 _ **Don't worry. All's good.**_

My fingers hesitate, the question itching to come out, but my subconscious wondering if I'm overstepping.

I send it anyway.

 _ **Alice Brandon?**_

 _ **Nothing. She stayed in my room because she was trashed. I stayed with you in the guest room. Nothing happened with her.**_

I don't answer, but Edward texts again.

 _ **You're the only one I've ever loved this way.**_

My heart stutters, but I don't have time to answer.

Someone screams. Literally screams, and it's the loudest my house has ever been.

"Fucking bitch!"

I'm on my feet in no time, racing down the steps. I run around the large hallway and past the dining room to the living room, where I find the image of utter devastation and lies.

My mother stands in the corner, her hands over her mouth in shock while my father stands beside her, his scotch swishing in his glass. Ever the picture of ease. Carlisle is in the middle of the room, trying to restrain a hysterical Esme. She screams and yells, punching his chest, yelling obscenities at him. Until her eyes land on me.

"You little whore!" She charges at me, only to be yanked back by Carlisle. "You've ruined my entire life!"

"No need for dramatics, Esme," my father sighs, sipping on his beverage.

"You're a slut!" Esme wails at me, ignoring him. "Couldn't find a boy your own age, so you had to go after a married man? You're sick!"

I stare at her, not feeling an ounce of remorse for her fake tears. Not when my dad's eyes are focused on her ass and Carlisle is staring at my tits.

The fucking hypocrisy.

"You've ripped my family apart! We treated you like our own." She points a finger in my face. "You were like a sister to my Rosalie, and now she's left home because of you! You're a disgrace!"

I scoff.

"That's it? You're not even going to explain yourself?" she yells.

I snap. "Explain myself? Okay, how's this? It was Carlisle that started it. He grabbed my ass. He made advances. He lured _me_ to a fucking motel. And as for decency? I have none. I learned how to cheat and lie from the best of them. You. All of you." I glance around them as they fall silent. "After all, Esme, you've been fucking around with my dad for nearly twelve years now, right?"

Her eyes widen, and the façade of the poor, heartbroken wife drops. She turns to Carlisle, who stares at her with disbelief and fury. Behind them, my mom places a hand dramatically on her chest, but her reaction falls flat and stale.

"Don't look so shocked, Mom," I call to her. "They were at it while you were with Mr. Banner. And then Mr. Weber."

My father still looks uninterested.

"I'm the result of your fucking actions. Me? Rose? We're your Goddamn collateral damage. It falls on you, the way we grew up. The lifestyle you got us caught up in. You're the failures, not us."

They still stand, staring.

"I may be a royal fuck up, but it's all of you that are the disgraceful ones."

I don't say anything else. I just leave them there, the ugly truth laid out before them as I slam my bedroom door closed.

. . . .

It's late in the night, but I'm still wide awake.

After the spat downstairs, the house had promptly emptied. My dad left for London. Esme and Carlisle went home, I'm assuming. And my mom disappeared. She'd tried to come in and have a chat, but words had failed her. She simply kissed my cheek and told me she'd be back in the morning.

There was no need to lie when we knew the truth. I think she gets that now.

Two taps on the window make me jump, but I smile when I see Edward dangling outside on the lattice. I let him in, watching as he folds himself through the window.

"You could've used the door," I point out.

"Felt better this way." He smirks, shrugging. "Like old times."

I smile a real smile for the first time in God knows how long.

"I'm heading back tonight."

My smile drops. "Oh."

"Emmett already left." He rubs the back of his neck. "Rosalie's with him."

My eyes widen. "Really? Wow."

"I know." He nods. "Are you… I mean, are you staying?"

"I'm leaving." I point to the suitcase by the door, freshly packed an hour ago.

I revel in the fact he looks disappointed. "Oh, that's…. that's great. Where you headed?"

"I actually don't know." I tell him the truth. "It's just time to leave, you know?"

He nods, hesitating for a second before lacing one finger with mine. "You could come with me."

My heart thumps.

"If you want, I mean," he backtracks.

"Like…" I trail off.

"Like we could try again," he says softly, pulling me closer. "Fresh start, away from here."

"But… we're a disaster." I chuckle without humor.

There's nothing funny here.

"True." He nods. "But I'm not over this. Over you." He looks up at me. "Just come. No promises. No plans. Just get in the car, and let's take it as it comes."

I breathe. I nod. And I smile.

"Okay."

He kisses me tenderly, and I wrap my arms around him, anchoring him to me. Where he's always belonged.

It may not work. I may fall back into bad habits contained at the bottom of a bag. He may get sick of me or cheat on me. I may end up hating him. Or we could end up blissfully happy.

Who knows?

But in the darkness of my bedroom, with his arms around me, I feel loved and protected. I feel the truth of the boy who sent me on the wrong path, then put me back on the right one when I strayed too far. The boy who made a mistake, nothing compared to mine, yet still stands here asking me to take a chance with him.

In the thick of it all, there only is one choice.

And it's him.

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